A Story about a 'Fox'
by IndigoStarshine
Summary: A quick monologue based on tribute that Katniss unaffectionately called Foxface. Her perspective of the 74th Hunger Games and her very last moments alive. Mild themes. Oneshot.


_A/N: Updated. Also added/changed things based on feedback from reviews and a Grammar Nazi friend. Thank you._

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From a distance I can see the Male tribute from District 12 gather berries for food. He would be a popular boy back in his home district, good natured and fair with a charming face. If it wasn't for luck and his fellow district tribute he would have been dead a long time ago.

I've been watching the tributes from District 12 work together for a while now – the star-crossed lovers. I can imagine the amount of support they must be getting in the Capitol now; they've been known to love drama as much as they love bloodshed. To prove this, they've been getting good sponsors. They have received a fair bit of food, medicines and supplies. I, on the other hand, have gotten virtually nothing. My efforts to gain attention from the other tributes have diverted potential sponsors as well.

It's his district partner that I've been most afraid of out of all of them – the girl from District 12, 'The Girl Who Was On Fire'. I knew she would be trouble the moment she scored an 11 in training. She's the one that sent a hive of Tracker Jackers on the careers killing the blonde District 1 girl. She exploded the Careers' (and my own) source of supplies. She has a look I assume is common for her district, dark hair and tanned skin. Her eyes are a cold and stoic shade of grey. I have the impression that life has left her strong as steel, having had to fight for survival in the most depraved region of the poorest district. I don't think she is really in love with her district partner, she knows that one will have to kill the other eventually to win. She would easily come out on top. I can see either her or the monstrous boy from District 2 being victors.

There is something strange about her and her district partner. It is unusual for District 12 tributes to last longer than the initial bloodbath. Yet, again it is unusual for District 5 tributes to last that long as well and I am still alive. I also saw what she did for the small girl from District 11 when she died. I have no idea why an intentful, emotionless girl like her would do something as nobel as that.

There are only four tributes still alive now, including myself. Most of the career tributes are now dead, which is good. Besides both of the District 12 tributes there is also Cato, the brutal District 2 volunteer tribute. The last tribute to die was the large dark skinned boy from District 11, I'm sure he was killed by Cato.

I've lost track of how many days I've been in the arena. Too long. Most Hunger Games only last under ten days and it's been well over ten days. I keep on thinking in circles about what happened and what might happen, preparing myself for the inevitable. I obsessively go over what happened to the other tributes and tributes in past Hunger Games in my head as if to remind myself not to make the same mistakes. Steer clear of Muttations and career tributes. Keep as many resources as possible. Don't drink bad water.

I remember my mentor took me aside before I went into the arena, looked in my eyes with forlorn hope and said in a whisper:

"I know you will do well. You have enough cunning to develop a strategy. You have a chance of surviving, of becoming a victor. I believe you can do District 5 proud. Tobie, he's only twelve and very naive. He won't last long."

My old, grey haired and jittery mentor was right about Tobie. I am still alive while Tobie died in the bloodbath. He's the only tribute I can allow myself to feel sorry for because he went to my school. He was a really, really nice kid.

I did develop a strategy as he suggested, but I do have a few regrets in the way that I've done things. I regret not taking some supplies or weapons in the initial bloodbath, leaving me with nothing to eat and no drink bottle to use during the first two days. There is also very little edible plants in the arena that have any sustenance. I have been eating tree bark for days which is far from enough. I have also been stealing food and resources from other tributes. It's something that I've found myself to be quite good at. It must come from years of avoiding peacekeepers in town and bullies at school.

What I don't regret is my decision not to kill. I refuse to do it. Ever. My only chance to win the Games was to wait in the wilderness but it isn't proving to be very helpful. I remember something Caesar Flickerman use to tell the audience during his commentary of the games, "It costs a lot more than your life. To fight for your survival? As you can see, it costs everything you are."

I hated my interview with Caesar Flickerman. I hate the disgusting man. I hate the gamemakers, the Hunger Games and the rest of the Capitol. They're all fucking sick. The Hunger Games will cost me my life but I will_ not _give them everything I am. I refuse.

I've been trying to stay in the forest as long as possible but it is hard. I am being eaten alive by mosquitos and the humidity makes it harder for me to breathe.

I use to love the forest. I use to go into the wilderness on the outskirts of District 5 with my family from time to time. We use to laugh and sing songs. We use to have so much fun. But now all I can feel is fear and pain. I see danger behind every corner, the paranoia consumes me.

The one thing I hate the most is not mosquitos, humidity, fear or even the knowledge that my suffering is being broadcasted live for the enjoyment of the selfish Capitol people. It is hunger.

My father was right, hunger and thirst can change who you are. The desperation is maddening. What I feel now is not the rumbling stomach that I would usually feel if my family could not afford dinner but the sensation of sheer pain in my abdomen. I am weak but my feet still manage to trudge my body forward.

The other day, I found a small pool of water to collect from. The water was a murky brownish colour but it was still clear enough to reflect light. I could see my body reflected in the water but it was not something I could really consider myself. It was a creature who was little more than skin and bone. The khaki uniform it wore into the arena is tattered and the fabric has lost its brilliance. The worst was its face, which is little more than a skull with eyes that have a look of wild despair in them. It's the only time in the arena where I have been reduced to tears.

Only one thought came through my mind when I saw my body reflected – What have I become? Caesar Flickerman was right when he said that survival costs the tributes everything they are. I feel like clinging to my vague hope of survival was more than I bargained for. I have already lost my body, how long will it be before starvation causes me to lose my mind. If I lose my mind, then there is no saying what I will do without self-control. I swore that I will never give them everything I am but I slowly feel that my mind and soul are being drained out of me in the same way that my body is devouring itself from the inside out. Maybe it would have been better if I had died sooner, to spare my suffering and preserve myself.

As I watch the boy from District 12 continues to pick berries. As I gingerly creep towards him, I recognise the bush that he is picking from as the nightlock that I passed by earlier. He's not very smart. Out of anything that one could know about plants, I would expect them to recognise Nightlock. If you didn't, the rule of 'if you don't know what it is, don't eat it' should apply.

Then a marvellous idea comes to me that didn't before… Nightlock causes painless death.

I can't stand starvation anymore. I can't out wait the other tributes as they have more resources. I also don't want to die a violent, brutal death at the hands of either Cato or the girl from District 12. If I did manage to win what would happen? Sure I could go home and learn to live with the trauma, but I will never be the same again. It will be a kind of half-life. I don't want to become a mentor and watch children suffer the way I did. I do love my family and friends, but I don't think my relationships with them will ever be the same again after this. They will understand that this is the best option…

…But I have to be discreet. The gamemakers don't like tributes who refuse to play their game. When I was little, one of our district tributes jumped off a cliff. The members of his immediate family were killed by peacekeepers. His extended family and friends were ostracised by the District 5 community as killing yourself is seen to be a shameful sign of weakness in my District's culture. I use to think the same… before now.

As I come closer and closer to stealing the berries, my plans and intentions are clear. As I have been stealing items from the other tributes to live, the audience will think that I have assumed that the berries are safe. People who know me well will know otherwise – my father taught my brothers and me to distinguish plants from a young age – but even then, they could put it down to desperation.

I swiftly snatch the berries off of his pile and sneak away. The blond boy did not notice me at all. He continued to pick berries and place them in the pile absentmindedly. I quickly get away from him and find a place in the woods that I think is safe. There is every possibility that he will eat the berries and die, leaving his district partner and Cato to fight to the death but that doesn't concern me. I don't care who wins, I never cared about the game from the start.

I take some time to admire at the forest environment around me. The gamemakers have replicated it perfectly. For a slaughtering field, it's abnormally peaceful. I can hear mockingjays sing in the trees above me. I breathe in fresh air that I thought could only be really found in a real forest. The trees towering above give me a false sense of security. I start to remember all the times I've been in the forest with my family. I know that they'll miss me so much.

Suddenly, I remember how my father had his own secret signal to say 'good night' to us before we went to bed. I don't know why he did it, it was probably just one of his eccentricities but it made me smile. I do want to say goodbye to my family. I know that they'll be watching me.

I carefully tap the side of my right eyebrow three times. I tried to do it in a way that looked like it could have been scratching. Then I eat some of the berries, Nightlock tastes a little like blueberries but much, much sweeter. It's a pleasant taste to the mouth.

Everything went black before I knew it….


End file.
